Pressure
by PurpleYin
Summary: Lockdown AU. DianaMarco. He was so glad she was halfway across the building, he needed that distance as greatly as the rest of him wanted so desperately for it to not exist.
1. Chapter 1

Spoilers: For S2 "Lockdown".

A/N: Thanks to Fanwoman for the betareading. This story will be in five parts - parts two and three will be up later this coming week for certain and the last two the week after hopefully.

* * *

Nothing was right. How could it be? Barricaded in the basement office he shared with his colleagues, the piles of handy furniture against the door were a vague reassurance against the insanity that had descended upon NTAC, but physical safety was not his only concern. He didn't _feel_ right, either. The only consolation was he knew why, if not exactly how or who was causing the signal. And he knew who would be fixing it, if anyone could. Him.

Despite having tied them up an hour ago, Brady and PJ were sitting still. Their calm was odd, considering how they must have felt, hyped up just the same as he was. The advantages of being resident geeks, rather than field agents, meant they were without standard issue firearms. Due to their relatively docile natures, coupled with their intellect, they'd managed to retain relative control of themselves and not kill each other. Thankfully, he'd been able to take advantage of the suspiciousness they harboured, and it had been fairly easy to trick them into the situation he'd engineered. Brady was shooting him daggered looks, he was sure, but it was really the least of his worries right now.

There had to be a way to counter the signal, but it was so hard to concentrate on anything. Marco set down his marker and used his palms to massage his temples, though it didn't really do any good. This wasn't your garden-variety headache. In fact, it wasn't even a headache, but it did your head in, regardless. All he wanted was some relief from the cloud that had settled over his mind – he wanted to be able to think clearly, but his thoughts were jumbled, coherency escaping him more and more as the minutes passed.

He was getting closer to a solution - he could feel it - but at the same time, getting there was becoming exponentially harder. It was a constant struggle to keep his brain on track, and he wasn't sure when his capacity to resist would give out. Everyone had a breaking point. He didn't like his being tested like that – not when failure could result in casualties or even fatalities. Also, Diana was relying on him. It irked him that she'd take for granted that he'd do what she wanted, but deeper down he knew why – she trusted him, needed him to help her and Maia out of this. That was what kept him going, working harder, trying to go against the current of his adrenaline-addled anatomy.

In addition to his job, he worked on problems for Diana. This was both; he just needed to keep reminding himself of that. It was his job and his pleasure as well. He was, however, disturbed at just how much of him was thinking of the pleasure he might gain for doing this, but he couldn't stop the ideas from forming. Of course, he was doing it for her, but the difficulty was he couldn't let his mind wander to thinking about her because then it would be over. It was like knowing there was a carrot on a stick as incentive but not being able to see it. He shouldn't have needed any incentive, but it was working. Perhaps it was more precise to consider it was getting him working in general so he wasn't going to question his motives. Besides which, the state he was in meant almost everything he did or thought was suspect; the only way to endure this was to appeal to simple desires and run with it, to go on instinct and be glad he was no where near her to act on any of those desires. He'd already jumped down her throat twice on the phone. As much as he hated to be putting extra pressure on her at a time like this, the words had slipped out, spoken with a spiteful vehemence that was quite unlike him. She was in trouble, and he tried to focus on that, though he knew he was rapidly failing in that task.

Thump. Thump. THUMP.

He jumped at the noise, turning to see the hastily made barricade scatter across the floor. Only a few, low level items blocked the door off, offering hardly any protection from the intrusion. A mostly unintelligible yet clearly angry bellow emanated through the crack of the door, and Marco decided the only sensible way to deal with this was to comply. He wanted to confront them, tell them to go away and let him do his job – he was practically itching to do so - but he knew whoever it was would be armed. There was no arguing with bullets.

He set down his marker and scrambled for the cable cutters on a nearby desk but was interrupted by the fervent bellow of those outside, who weren't so happy at being kept waiting.

"Open the door. IMMEDIATELY!"

So he pocketed the tool and promptly cleared the remaining things out of the door's berth and took a breath before opening it as calmly as he could manage, then taking a few steps backwards to put distance between himself and the visitors. He was faced by two sturdy men, part of the newly introduced NSA team. There faces were impassive as they studied him for a second, but they still looked tense and sweaty, making him certain no one had escaped the effects of the signal.

"This the theory room?" one of them asked blandly.

He doubted lying was going to get him anywhere...

"Yeah," he replied simply, waiting for their agenda to come to the forefront before he gave up any additional information.

"You're the head honcho, right? The best guy they've got?"

He opted for safe modesty, in case denial or too enthusiastic agreement got him in trouble somehow.

"I suppose..."

"Then you're with us," said the still nameless NSA agent, indicating with a hand movement over his shoulder that they were to move out. It didn't sound like there was room for negotiation, but he wasn't about to give up so lightly. He was the best hope for resolving the escalating crisis they found themselves in – and he couldn't deny he wanted to rebel on some level, however unhealthy an option that could ultimately prove to be. Even as delayed as it apparently was, compared to everyone else in the building, he was really starting to lose control.

"Well, I'm a little busy here," he said, not being able to suppress the sarcasm laced in the response. The two grunts were unfazed.

"You're going to resolve the situation," was the gruff and very stiffly delivered reply. The agents' patience was definitely being tried. Marco was severely tempted to correct him. Despite his own inclination to be unreasonable, he didn't think any amount of reasoning would persuade one of these guys, and it wouldn't be long before any attempt to do so was likely to get his ass kicked or worse. He glanced back at Brady and decided there was only one course of action that had much of a chance; he'd go with the NSA guys. He'd do what they wanted - within reason and ability - and hope to God that his two colleagues managed to settle their differences long enough to work on the solution back here.

"Okay, I just need to...to check on my colleagues. Make sure they're secure, not able to cause any fuss while I'm gone." He smiled as broadly as possible. The painfully fake grin was the best he could do, as he resisted the extremely unwise urge to take them on alone.

The two NSA agents eyed up Brady and PJ but said nothing, and didn't move to stop him from walking over to the chairs where the other theory room guys where restrained. Marco made as if to check on the cables tied around their hands, first looking over PJ's and putting on a show of tightening them before moving around to Brady. Standing to the side of Brady gave him the perfect opportunity to access his left pocket without the agents seeing him do so. They eyed him up every few moments, but the short lapses in their attention because of their agitation allowed him to slip the wire cutters out as he pretend to check Brady's hands. He whispered to Brady as he handed the tool to him, placing it into his hands at the same time as he "secured" the cables more tightly.

"If anything happens to me, you and PJ need to concentrate on the counter signal. Check the calculations on the board. I'm nearly there; we just need more time to -"

The drawl of one of the agents disturbed him as he asked testily, "You done yet?"

Marco's senses stirred at the aggravated tone, but he ignored it.

"I'm nearly done. I need to check their feet, too."

The agent stared at him for a second, almost doubtfully, it seemed, but he let it go with just a comment and a displeased scowl.

"Make it quick"

Despite managing to ignore the wish to do something about the demands placed on him, it took a moment for Marco to compose himself. Whispering lower than before, he continued, keeping it as brief as he could.

"Try out the rest of the possible frequencies. There aren't that many left."

A feeling of overwhelming hopelessness settled on him as he contemplated the possibility of none of the frequencies working or of none of them living long enough to test them. He tried to overcome the flash of doubt, praying Brady hadn't seen any indication of the fear on his face as he'd finished fiddling with the cables around his feet.

He wanted to leave them with hope, an expression of his faith, no matter that he was the cause of their incarceration. "You guys can do it. I know you can." He tightened PJ's feet so the agents didn't become more suspicious. There was no need to tell his friends that they had to finish his work, nor what was riding on their success; he could see they were fully aware by the look in their eyes. Standing, Marco turned and made his way to the door, trying desperately not to look back and give the game away.


	2. Chapter 2

Spoilers: For S2 "Lockdown".

A/N: Thanks to Fanwoman for the betareading.

* * *

The beefy agents manhandled Marco as soon as he was out of the office. One held on to his forearm so tightly it would probably leave bruises, as the other moved the nearby drinks machine in front of the door, trapping Brady and PJ in the theory room. Marco was about to protest when it occurred to him it was probably for the best. If the two theory room guys didn't kill each other, then they'd have nothing to do apart from work on the solution in order to orchestrate their own escape. 

After that show of strength, Marco knew how dangerous these guys were, so he let them all but drag him along the corridor at an exceedingly fast pace. Not to mention, as he looked back over his shoulder, he realised how outside of his comfort zone he was all of a sudden. He'd been glad to have something to attempt concentrate on before, the search for a solution, and without that purpose, put in a situation where he had little clue what was expected of him he was rapidly losing confidence. Even so there was still that buzz in his head, the mental irritator that made him itching for action and right now he had nothing to focus it on, apart from making sure he didn't do anything dumb.

"So, guys…where are we going?" he asked, attempting a casual friendly enquiry on the subject even as their treatment of him made his gorge rise.

"To the 4400s," replied John McClain wannabe #2 as he prodded Marco into the elevator.

Which meant to where Diana was...

Panic overwhelmed him momentarily before the adrenaline-instigated anger kicked in at their stupidity. What did they expect he could do that any field agent couldn't? They clearly weren't thinking rationally - hell, he couldn't claim to be totally in control, either. The whole plan was lunacy, and what scared him most was the possibility that they might try to kill Maia and, in the process, hurt Diana.

Plus they were leading him straight to her position – the worst possible place for him to be if he wanted to maintain any shred of restraint. Oh, plenty of him _wanted_ to be there, but that was why it wasn't a good idea. His mind swam with ideas fuelled by desire, things he had no business thinking about his friend, however much he wanted to be more than that. But he had no choice whatsoever on this course of action, unless he reckoned he could take on two heavily trained security men.

Grinning wryly, as he shuffled along between them, he pondered how this would turn out. Given enough time, his rational mind might be subverted by the signal to the point where fighting with these men would seem the obvious choice, a prospect he didn't much appreciate. He had no idea how it would end if Brady and PJ couldn't find the counter signal. He hoped...but what good was that at a time like this? They needed a certainty, a saving grace for them making it through the utter chaos of the day.

Everything was a mess, literally. As they stalked one section of corridor, they had to step over debris from a fight – office furniture was strewn across the floor, along with grubby papers scattered. Across the nearest doorway and spread out into his path were pieces of a shattered mug, on which Marco could make out the fractured words "Wor...ld's Best...Dad". He shuddered involuntarily when he realised the marks on the papers were bloody fingerprints.

Straining to hear, Marco could make out strange sounds in the distance. His captors tensed up, letting him go and instinctively reaching for their weapons as they neared the corner. He waited back, glad to be free and wondering if he should make a run for it, now that their attention was elsewhere. What stopped him was the thought that they must be closing in on the gym. Abruptly, his phone rang, and fortunately, his friends in black where no longer in close range to him. He clicked the button quickly, noticing it was Diana calling, _again_. Somehow he couldn't help answering brusquely.

"What do you want?"

"Marco, I need you to find that signal. Tell me you've nearly got it." There was a hint of desperation in her voice that surprised him, given how demanding his mind told him she was being.

"You think I don't know that? And, no, I haven't got it – I'm nowhere near getting it, thanks to a couple of macho men having a bright idea. I'm not even working on it."

Just as before, he hadn't meant to come off that harshly, his frustration came shining through in his ill thought out conversations with her. Even in the midst of his mental chaos, he wasn't so bad when not confronted by her and her increasingly stressed tone. But he didn't have time to retract what he'd said or explain further; she cut in, sounding evermore infuriated with him.

"What do you mean? You're not working on it? I need you to help, or every 4400 in here, including Maia, is in serious trouble."

And with that, all his good intentions - to apologise, to reassure - fell away, leaving only bitterness in their wake.

"Right,_ you_ need _me_ to do something. Don't you always."

The second he'd said it, he regretted responding so callously and selfishly when people's lives where at stake. Expecting Diana to either hang-up or take her own anger out on him, he was left with a strange feeling when she said simply, "I have to go." She'd sounded calm, in a controlled, rather forced way, which made his stomach churn. He preferred not to think about why she had to go, but he knew it must have something to do with the commandos, who'd presumably found her position.

Normally, he would have thought something like this through, developed a strategy at the very least, but the only fact he was currently capable of holding onto was that Diana was in danger. He broke into a run as he rounded the corner, sprinting towards the disturbance. His heart pumped hard in his chest, and his lungs wheezed slightly, his body's protest as the all-out rush to get to her. Right about now he was thinking it would've been good to have done field training already.

He skidded as he came round the final corner and stumbled onto the battle between Tom and three others. Finding a stray fist heading towards him, he ducked and promptly weaved out of the way only to be blindsided by one of the agent's falling, knocking him into the wall and out cold.


	3. Chapter 3

Spoilers: For S2 "Lockdown".

A/N: Thanks to Fanwoman for the betareading.

* * *

When he came to, his head hurt badly, and he felt nauseous. Quite likely, half the reason for that was the noise he could hear over the intercom - an unpalatable screeching that grated, setting him on edge even more than before. It was only compounded by the loss of his glasses. He found it hard to focus, but one thought stuck out in his mind, that he'd been trying to help Diana. Further noises from the gym caught his attention. He could just about make out Diana warning Tom about something, a desperate tone to her voice for the second time today. Whatever was going on, it wasn't good.

As he pushed himself up, using the wall as leverage, he heard a scuffle and the telltale thud of a body hitting the ground. Fear flooded his system at the same time as pain from his ankle shot up his leg, and the combination of emotion and adrenaline spurred his need to get up and in there, to make sure Diana was alright. His ankle was throbbing almost as much his head, but he ignored it, only to stumble as he neared the entrance to the gym. He ended up tripping over debris in the hall and had to brace himself with his right hand, cutting it on the shattered remains of a wooden vaulting horse. Unable to prevent it, he cried out as pain flourished in yet another part of his body. Without glancing up, he could sense all eyes were on him.

In that moment when he looked up to see the occupants of the room, he registered Hudson on his knees in front of Diana and an apparently unconscious Tom on the floor to the other side – at least he hoped that was so, it was hard to tell how Tom was from his position. Alerted by the sound, the doctor had, like everyone else, turned to look what had created the scene. It was a small distraction, but Diana was faster to refocus than Hudson. She used that split second to strike out, pistol whipping him as Marco presumed she had done to Tom. Hudson slumped to floor while Diana stood there over him, panting slightly, sweaty from the fighting she'd endured.

It was then, watching her, that he knew he was in trouble. His already failing common sense took a plunge as he stepped forward, obeying the deeper part of him that wanted only to be closer to her. Maybe he hadn't done what he'd promised to, but that didn't mean he was undeserving of her attention. It wasn't his fault he'd been kidnapped by dumb commandos, and regardless of why he wasn't in the theory room working on stopping the signal, it was only natural he'd come to find her. Didn't just about everything in his life centre on her? His spinning thoughts scattered as she exclaimed, "Marco, are you okay? You're bleeding."

He raised a hand to the side of his head, wincing as it met a tender spot. Drawing it back, he noted with an odd detachment that there was, indeed, a good deal of blood on it. Looking down, there was more on his shirt. It was one of his favourite shirts, one he'd picked out to get himself noticed, but he hadn't even spotted the bright red splashes that contrasted with the green pattern. He wasn't sure he cared either – to him it was all hazy, vague, unimportant - but it was clear she did. Her lips parted like she meant to say something more but wasn't sure what, her expression showing both wariness and concern. The thought of the latter made his heart pound faster and brought a weak smile to his lips despite the pain in his temple.

"I'm not feeling that good. I think I need some help here..." he slurred, feeling like he was betraying her as he said the words. He should have been telling her to stay away from him, but he couldn't utter a warning to save his life. A small part of him knew she'd been ready to shoot Hudson, and probably Tom, too. That was exactly what the future might hold in store for him if he couldn't find the strength inside to warn her.

"Marco, who's working on fixing this? Please tell me someone is."

"The guys might be. That noise you can hear? That's their doing. Or they might have given up with that. Could be punching each others lights out by now. Hard to tell," he said, with a resigned shrug that was inexplicably casual for the possibly dire situation.

"But you can fix it, can't you? If we get you patched up, you could stop this."

"Probably could. I'm sure that's true."

In the distance, a blurred person tried to stand up but failed, grunting as pain hit them from their attempt. Upon speaking, he could identify them as Nina. "Skouris! This isn't over yet. Don't forget that." She was all but ordering Diana to stay away from him, yet he could tell by the look on Diana's face that she was tempted to defy reason and come closer anyway. She settled for talking more, instead, holding her position between him and the rest of the people in the gym.

"Just tell me what I need to do, Marco. You're in no condition, but I can manage if you can talk me through it."

He wanted to tell her how, but the truth was he could barely think about what was necessary. There was no hope for that plan. It was now up to Brady and Archie. Either they came through, or they were royally screwed, because he could already feel himself falling apart. His resolve was faltering. He knew what he should say, but he found words coming out his mouth that said the opposite of what was right, what was rational.

"No can do. You're a virologist, not a physicist. This is way outside of your field. You need me."

She hesitated, apparently taken aback by his tone, or perhaps it was his indifference to his injury. Either way, her hesitation almost amused him, except that he knew she was right to feel that way. He wasn't himself. He wasn't overtly dangerous, but his intentions were far from pure. She'd been ready to kill the other two, if necessary, but here she was, seemingly scared of him, at least a little, enough to warrant the caution she was showing. His mind offered the possibility that perhaps it was because she couldn't bear to hurt him. His heart skipped a beat at that thought, and he lost his focus on what was truly important, to resist how he felt, just for a while longer. Instead of the warning he'd tried to piece together mentally, his voice came out smooth and reassuring, designed to assuage her doubts.

"Come on, you know you can kick my ass. In this condition, I'm not exactly a serious threat, and you could beat me single-handedly any day as it is."

She glanced down at Tom and Hudson, satisfied they were going nowhere, and finally took one precious step towards him. He didn't want to feel thrilled, but he could already feel the affect it had on him, his heart racing as he realised he'd gotten through to her. She trusted him. She shouldn't, but she did. Another step, and his guilt started to fade in the face of the looming prospect of being near her, of getting what he'd always wished for. He became less and less aware of everything else in the room as she approached, not registering Nina's comments except that they were disapproving. Diana's wide eyes were fixed on him, making him extra conscious of her attention and that she was giving herself over to him with each pace forward.

Finally, she was close enough to reach out and touch. His head hurt. It took all he had to focus on her as she looked at him, concerned, so much so, he couldn't retain the control he'd been maintaining all through this fiasco. He had scant willpower left, and he used what little he had to whisper, "Don't."

She paused, surprised at this, but his meagre attempt wasn't enough to convey the need for her to go back. As she reached out a hand to examine his head wound, he made his move, eliciting gasps from their watchers. Some part of him was aware of Nina's voice, raised in anger, as she shouted, "Pacella, what the hell are you doing!" but the meaning didn't fully register. He was only focused on one thing – Diana. His strong arms encircled her, holding her tight. Then he pivoted with ease, swinging her into the corridor with him and out of sight.


	4. Chapter 4

Spoilers: For S2 "Lockdown".

A/N: Thanks to Fanwoman for the betareading.

* * *

As he closed his eyes, the din of the gym – voices shouting out, demanding to know what was happening - was drowned out by sound of her labored breathing and the rabid thumping his heart made in response. 

When his lips met hers, he felt like everything in the world was falling away, a relief from the constant tension of the mental thrum, causing his internal rage and frustration to dissipate.

All at once, she was his whole world. Every sense was caught up in the exploration of her; the warmth of the nape of her neck, fingers teasing across her skin; the feel of the soft fabric as his hand brushed past the small of her back and across the smooth leather of her holster; the tension of the material as he teased her blouse from the waist of her skirt to reach an expanse of hot skin.

The unexpected small moan escaping from her mouth because of his actions fuelled him on, and then his hands were grasping her more fervently, as he pushed them both against the wall, one clasping her waist, pulling her to him; the other entangled in the thick dark curls of her hair, working at the clasp to let it fall loose around her face. Inhaling the sweet smell of her hair was like savoring the aroma of a fine wine, for it was rare he was close enough to catch the subtle scent of it.

With amusement, he recognised the lingering taste of the really good coffee from the café up the street on her lips, and he smiled a bit against the kiss, knowing she hadn't ignored his recommendation. That flourishing thought increased the pleasure, because it meant she'd thought of him today, before all the trouble, before she'd needed his help.

And then he opened his eyes abruptly, seeing the shock evident in Diana's, and the dream - the illusion of getting what he'd wanted – crashed and fell to pieces. What had he done? She'd trusted him, yet he'd consciously lured her closer, betraying that precious bond for a brief quelling of his lust. He could argue he wasn't himself - and maybe she'd accept it - but nothing could undo the fact he'd broken her faith in him. Worse, he knew, deep down, every feeling, every action was of his own making, genuine expressions of his inner self. Perhaps none of it had been how he'd wanted to present himself, or behave, but everything he'd done he'd wanted to do. Some part of him even believed he was right to have done it, and it sickened him to know that attitude lurked inside, however deeply it was usually buried.

She might forgive him on the surface of it, but would he forgive himself if it had, in any way, damaged their friendship, let alone the chance at a relationship? It wasn't only about Diana, either, Maia had indirectly born witness to what he'd done. She was young but not so young she couldn't understand what issues it could cause, that he'd taken advantage of her mother.

He was breathless, trying to avoid eye contact, though they were - for some reason lost to him and better analysed later - still pressed against each other. He felt Diana's head jerk up suddenly. Focusing on her face, he saw a look of sheer panic there before everything was turned upside down in a barrage of confusing events. Diana cried out "No! Stop!" and then he found himself abruptly tackled by her, both of them landing painfully on their sides. Looking up from his position on the floor he watched as a metal bar, minus the usual barbells, clanged with a vicious resonance on the concrete as it met the wall, coming round from a trajectory of about where he'd been standing seconds ago.

Lying on the floor, Marco was conscious that Diana was tantalizingly close once more. He found himself shamefully unable to focus on anything other than her, and his eyes were drawn to hers as she looked down at him, more than a little breathless, having had the wind knocked out of her lungs from landing on top of him. Briefly, he searched them for any sign that she might despise him for his unwilling actions but could find no resentment. For once, he found her unreadable, a look passing across her face that he couldn't begin to categorize, and he wasn't sure if he should fear what it meant. He didn't, however, have much longer to think upon this when Diana's attention was, yet again, drawn away from him.

The nurse was standing above them both, now brandishing another piece of gym equipment, this time hesitantly. He couldn't really blame her for an overzealous amount of concern, not when Diana had been ready to shoot the other crazed people they'd come across... though it seemed Diana wasn't willing to drop the issue so readily in his case.

"What were you doing? You could have killed him!" she exclaimed incredulously as she stood up and dusted herself off.

"I...I thought he might...That he was hurting you, forcing you..."

To that open statement, phrased like an enquiry, Diana did not make any attempt to answer, and he desperately wished she had been facing him when it had come up so he could gage her reaction.

"Well, it's over now. There's no need for that. Enough people have been hurt. Maybe you can make use of _your training_ now." she responded, sounding both vaguely angry with the woman and regretful. It was hard to tell if it was simply displeasure at the nurse's too late response to danger and regret over all she'd had to do herself in the name of defence, or if it might be due to the interruption...

Over as it was, he chided himself for caring about such a selfish thing, considering how close it had come to the nurse's fear being a reality. Even with Diana's lack of resistance, who could say he'd have stopped if she had shown any.

He shuddered to think about it, but found himself almost literally pulled out of that dark mental mire when he meekly accepted Diana's hand to get him standing up. Embarrassingly, he immediately swayed on his feet, and it was only with help - her arm around his torso, pulling him towards her to take some of his unbalanced weight, and the same from the nameless nurse – that he managed to walk back into the gym in order to get settled in and comfortable, presumably to wait for medical attention, since there were others in the building who were far worse off than himself.

Unfortunately, the most comfortable place to rest was on a pile of gym mats, within earshot of his boss. She glanced across at him, raising an eyebrow at the extra dishevelment he'd somehow managed during the last few minutes, and he puzzled at how, exactly, he'd managed to end up with several shirt buttons undone.

Nina dryly delivered the sarcastic comment of "I didn't see that coming" to the room in general, which prompted the rather peeved nurse to spout off her own, slightly bitter, reflection of the predicament she'd found them in.

"I didn't see _either_ of them resisting." she said whilst moving to check on Nina's injury, shooting him a dirty look and then glancing deliberately at Diana for a second, who was walking single-mindedly towards him with something clutched in her hands.

He closed his eyes and resisted the urge to groan out loud. Was there any chance he'd live this down, let alone work out the ramifications with Diana, given that half the staff would latch onto any gossip available? He severely doubted Miss Try-to-save-the-day-half-a-minute-too-late was going to keep mum about it. Brady and P.J. would probably bring it up as much as possible, once they caught up with the scuttlebutt, especially considering it would nicely deflect their own fisticuffs in the theory room and give them something to rally around. There was sure to be a nudge, nudge, wink, wink apology in there as well, for solving the counter-signal a little too soon. What made him cringe was the fact all of them would completely miss the point. What had happened might have made his heard race, his soul sing even, at the time, but it wasn't an experience to cherish – it was the blundered beginning of a relationship instead of a happy ending.

Nevertheless, as he slipped into a semi conscious state, he felt a hand on his shoulder nudging him awake, and he looked up to see Diana staring at him, with concern etched on her face as she looked over his head wound.

"You should try and stay awake; you might have a concussion."

"You know, that's not really a very good excuse for what I did -" he started to say.

"Though it probably won't be as bad as Tom's, or Ma...Dr. Hudson's," she joked weakly.

"I should've...I shouldn't...I wanted -" He tried to articulate his thoughts but found it inordinately harder, now the adrenaline had worn off. His head just felt fuzzy, but it hardly mattered, since Diana seemed determined not to let him finish.

"Here, I brought you your glasses." She spoke quietly as she bent down in order to put them on him, fingers flitting over the sides of his face as she pushed them back, into place. "I figured they might make your head hurt less, things being in focus."

He tried to formulate a reply as his brain zoned in on the feel of her deliberate and lingering touch, but he was cut off again, this time by a despairing cry from the other side of the room. Maia had apparently gained enough lucidity, despite her fever, to realise what was happening.

"Mommy! Mommy, are you okay?!"

Unsurprisingly, Diana pulled away from him, the tender contact lost, and all he could feel was the throb of his head returning. The glasses didn't, in fact, improve the pain. Marco closed his eyes, trying to block out not only that discomfort but the reality of what he'd done and the sinking feeling at the implications of the whole situation – a terrorist attack on NTAC, 4400s dead, who knew how many injured, and Maia sick.

Part of him still wanted to fight, this time to stay conscious and be of some help, perhaps, and make up for the distress he'd caused, but his exhausted body overwhelmingly yearned to fall into an ignorant, blissful state and come around when things might have improved. That was a wish easily fulfilled, one he hoped would not come with dire costs or consequences.


End file.
